The Actual Myth Behind The Grudge and The Ring
by Miss Jinx
Summary: This is the first part of the story, which gives us the background behind the curse. It also tells us what actually haunts a group of young men and women when they travel together to a wooden cabin house on the island of OshimaLove to hear your reviews!
1. Part One Chapter One Of The Myth

The Actual Myth Behind 'The Grudge' and 'The Ring'

Prologue:

So, you think that Hollywood knows it all do you? All those special effects are just stunts to scare the daily movie-watchers? Well, here is how it_ really_ happened…We have the Japanese cult movies "The Ring" and "The Grudge: Ju-on;" pretty famous around the world now. But isn't it a mystery those stories consists of the same patterns? Both of the films consist of the same spirit of a frightening woman haunting innocent individuals. Maybe, just maybe, they could not 'just be stories'…and the group of young men and women pictured in the next pages are actual victims traumatised by "The Real Grudge."

Part One:  
Chapter One:

Kurosawa Takashi was an average Japanese man. He lived with his quaint wife, Nanako and had no children. They blamed this due to the fact that he was a Chemical Researcher and she was away most of the time, travelling the country as a T.V Journalist. They lived in a small cabin house on the desolate island of Oshima. As Kurosawa became more isolated with his endless experiments, his paranoia grew, day after day staring into the space of his gloomy, wooden home. Nanako seemed to spend more time away now than ever before, perhaps their love was beginning to perish?

This is why when the sudden expectancy of a child in the Takashi family occurred, suspicions arose amongst Kurosawa. Certainly, they were not prepared for this news and Nanako had been away for months in the big city. Kurosawa started suspecting things, things that may never have been imagined possible in this family, if he had not fallen into the same patterns as a sociopath. The more weeks that passed, the more anxious he became; so apprehensive that he chewed the nails from off his hand until they were sore and bloody. Nanako could feel him breathing heavily on her back every time someone mentioned the child. She could feel that he was not the same man she had married four years ago. She could feel him becoming strange, not letting her out of his sight, following her into her study. She started to fear him. She became conscious of this new-found hate.

March 25th came finally, and after 12 hours of labour (held strictly in the cabin) a beautiful girl was born. She was named Sadako after Kurosawa's mother, despite strong protest that she was not a boy. Nanako stayed in bed with the child for a while, exhausted from what seemed a lifetime of pain. She held the tiny girl close to her body. "Sadako, my precious Sadako," she whispered softly in the baby's ear.

But there was breathing. She felt breathing, laboured breathing against the back of her neck. It was harsh and she could feel each individual hot saliva droplet every time he exhaled. "That thing, that _thing_, you have bought into our home. _Your_ ugly creation." Nanako bit the corners of her lip and gripped Sadako tighter. "She cannot be mine. You… you _whore_! You are never at home and…and I have seen the way you look at _him_." He nudged his face towards a portrait of Nanako's boss. Nanako turned around in dismay, responding to this horrifying accusation. "This _thing_ is your daughter and you have always, **always** been the only man in my life, but you know that."

It seemed as if Kurosawa had been plagued at that very moment, plagued with an intense revulsion. Darkness overshadowed his small figure and in a mad rage, he held with his blistered fingers what looked like a clean butcher's knife. Nanako's breath became still. Every distinct little black hair on the back of her neck became parallel with one another and she felt as if someone was pouring sharp ice down her spine. "I warned you. I warned you to take that _thing_ away from us, but you chose not to listen." Kurosawa gritted his teeth and twitchingly spoke. " Now you will feel the pain you have bought on me." His eyes welled up with what seemed to be tears of dirt from the endless days of unwashed skin. In her timid voice, Nanako spoke, "but I love you, don't you remember anymore? I am your wife."

His eyes were bloodshot and wide, contrasting her small, mournful gaze. It appeared as if his mind was blank, that everything in the world seemed to disappear and he no longer lived in reality. He remained expressionless, which made Nanako fear him far more than ever before. No one knew what he was going to do next. No one knew if he would 'snap out' of this vicious mode or if he was going get worse. Ten minutes, he stood there, emotionless. Nanako saw this as a chance to retreat and slowly turned towards the sleeping child, her back towards him.

She looked downwards. She looked at that white maternity dress she was wearing, which no longer remained a sterile white. She saw the tip of the clean butcher's knife, like a shark's fin surfacing on her bloody nightgown. It glimmered and reflected the now smiling face of Kurosawa. Sadako's face was now painted with the blood of her dying mother. The tip of the knife suddenly drew back. Nanako gasped thinking that the ordeal was over. But he was still smiling, an inhumane icy smile. "I told you take that _thing_ away from our home," he repeated. Nanako turned towards him in more pain she could ever face, "just what do you want from me?"

Nanako screamed for a few short moments. Her pupils dilated as the knife penetrated and split through her throat, ripping all her senses apart. "Everything, I just wanted everything," Kurosawa sobbed silently while wiping the blood away that had sprayed onto his lips.

Hello FanFiction people. Well I hope you enjoyed that! And I would love to hear anything from you (be it critism or praise) I am new to FanFiction so I need all the help that I can get!


	2. Part One Chapter Two

Part One:  
Chapter Two:

Kurosawa took the painted baby carefully and placed her down on the crisp white spare bed in the room next door. Sadako lay sleeping and sucking on her bloodied fingers, letting her mother colour her tongue; unaware of her father's inhumane act. He returned to his pulverised wife, along with a large, wooden- handled axe and an impassive appearance.

There she lay, showered across the double bed, his wife of four years. Her eyes remained fixed on Kurosawa still mournful and dazed, but now bloodshot like her husbands. With his blistered hand, he lifted up her head, feeling her soft black hair. "You were my most beautiful experiment," Kurosawa manically spoke to himself. He leaned down towards her and kissed her on the lips, conscious of the fact that she had dribbled blood into his mouth. Kurosawa licked every inch of his thin, crusted lips, tasting his dead wife. He lunged towards her, eager to taste more, repeating the same process of his brutality. As their lips sunk together, he gazed upwards looking at her bloodshot eyes, to 'rekindle' their cherished memories. Her eyes were wider than ever, the balls seemed as if they were falling out of their sockets. The blue veins in the surface of her forehead gave the impression as if they were still throbbing. She looked peculiar, no longer human. Her face was of an odd grey colour, the look of death.

As Kurosawa continued to relish the bubbling blood, he felt strange. He felt as if there was a presence with him. He felt as if she was talking, whispering to him "_get away from me, get away from Sadako. She is not your daughter_." Kurosawa leapt back from his feet, confused, dumb-founded by the whispering voices. She continued to stare at him as if she was warning him. "_She is **not** your daughter_." The words echoed and thundered in his mind, becoming louder each time. It strained in his head, as if a swarm of flies around a dirty child. It made him shiver all over his dirty body and collapse on to the floor. There he rocked himself back and forth, continuously thrashing his head and burning ears in order to rid her voice.

Kurosawa pulled himself up of the floor and placed his head next to Nanako's glazed face, sobbing quietly. As the dirty tears rolled off his scarred cheeks and on to the pillow, he closed his eyes tight. But he felt breathing. He felt laboured breathing, breathing against the top of his cold-blooded, murdering skull. It was harsh and he could feel each individual hot saliva droplet every time it exhaled. His breath became still; the hairs on the back of his neck, parallel with one another, too horrified of what he might encounter if he opened them.

There, she lay, blinking. Blinking with her bloodied eyes.


End file.
